Flowers vs Daisies
by Leah N. Cross
Summary: "I heard you were spending some time with father's queer gardener, Mary," Colin sneered teasingly, "Will my cousin deny it?" Mary eyes went to Dickon's, immediately Dickon tore away from her gaze, clearly embarrassed he had been caught. Mary smiled as she finally answered, "He's not so queer." (A story about what if Mary's mother never died) (Dickon/Mary)
1. The Secret Garden

Part One

"Flowers"

Dickon was a fool…

... and he knew it.

The first time he met the young mistress from India, he was twelve years old, and she was ten. His first impression of her was not _exactly_ what he was promised. Martha had told him of all her worries when she first heard she was coming to Misselthwaite Manor. She told him about the mistress's mother and her love for jewels and other rich privileges. Mistress Rose Lennox was a spoiled woman, with a very bitter heart. Martha first had the unfortunate opportunity to meet her personally and it was nothing but unruly, tirant, behavior. She is incredibly picky and would go to no trouble to humiliate you if things are not to her liking. She would never stay long because the moore seemed to make her sick. When she was expected to stay more than a couple of days, she would only stay for a few hours, claiming all the dirty plant air was giving her a headache. Martha warned him to stay far away from Miss Mary Lennox, fearing she would be exactly the same.

The day Mary arrived, Dickon did his best to avoid her completely, just as his sister told him. He never even bothered to be in the same room as her. Being a man of peace, he didn't want to cause any trouble, so he stuck with the work he knew best. Archibald originally hired him for work inside of the manor, but quickly extended the boy's duties when he discovered Dickon's gift with plants and other wild things.

He was in the gardens when he past by a wall, one he's never noticed before. Following the length of it, he found no opening, no door, no way inside.

_What's in it?_ he thought to himself, pushing past some ivy, looking for the entrance.

"Is there a door?"

The voice shocked him as he jumped out of the mysterious person's view who almost spotted him before he jumped behind another garden wall. He waited to be called upon, because if she spotted him, she would have done so, but she never did. Peaking over the ivy, he saw none other than the young mistress of India, though he didn't know it. Instead he saw a mysterious girl talking to a little red robin. He thought he was the only one who spoke to animals. She had long light brown curls, and was very thin. Her small hands pushed away some ivy as well, apparently she too was searching for the entrance. He was in shock, and not because of the girl's interest in gardens, or because he watched her talking to a young robin but because of how beautiful this girl was and he wasn't prepared for it.

Instinctively Dickon knew the one he was spying on was infact a girl of a rich background. It was her wardrobe which gave it away. She wore a red yarn cap, a dark forrest green coat, with bronze buttons shaped like roses. Hiding underneath her coat was a simple thick navy blue dress (but unmistakably expensive), protecting her from the extremely cold climate, which fell loosely just a little below her knees. She also wore black stockings and black boots to go with it. Despite her extremely pale complexion, she had just a bit of light pink blush in her cheeks, and a look of trouble in her eyes.

It was hypnotising, just looking at her and Dickon couldn't explain it. He's talked to girls before, seen pretty girls before, and definitely ones of Mary's class. Truthfully he's never spoke to someone of Mary's class but he's seen them before and never had they ever put a spell on him quite like this girl here.

"Where does it lead?" she asks a robin excitedly, following the wall, just as he once tried.

The Robin tweeted a bit before flying over the wall. Mary reached out for it, "No wait, please!"

Mary kicked the dirt below her and sighed defeatedly. Dickon on the other hand couldn't contain himself any longer. He jumped from behind the wall and said loud enough for her to notice him, "Ah think 'e wants thy ta folla 'im."

Mary almost screamed when she quickly turned around and found a rather older boy standing in front of her. Not too older but old enough to tower over her a little. She eyed him, looking down and up, scanning his body, looking for anything that could possibly hurt her. She's already been in situations like that and she doesn't plan on letting it happen again.

Pulling up a gentle hand, Dickon shows he means no harm. "I didn't mean ta startle tha."

"Who are you?" she sneers quietly, glaring at him.

"I'm the gardener," gesturing around him speaking very fast, thick in broad yorkshire, "I work 'ere ."

Eyebrows pushed together and a look of confusion tightening her face, she confesses with embarrassment "I'm sorry I don't quite understand?" she asks.

Now blushing furiously, he always knew his english wasn't proper, but he was never embarrassed with the way he spoke, until now. "I says," he took a deep breath and did the best he could, speaking slower, "I work here."

She understood this time, but not without plenty effort. "Do you know what's behind the wall?"

Still stunned, she was there with him and not inside with the rest of her class, he stumbled on his words, "I'm no' sure. I couldn't find thy entrance."

Smiling halfheartedly at him she drops the ivy which was once tight in her grip, "Pitty."

Dickon meant to leave after that and just go back to work, even though it was his break, but he just couldn't. "My nem is Dickon Sowerby. What's thy'n?"

She pauses for a moment before giving him an answer, "Mary Lennox." Her tone was gentler but her guard was still up. Taking his dirty hand, she shakes it and says with a most beautiful smile, "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Sowerby."

"An… Thy as well, Miss Lennox."

"Mary," she said gripping the ivy again.

"Eh?"

Mary was trying to pull herself up but gave up when it seemed impossible. Her skirt was too heavy. She didn't turn back to look at him again, her focus still on the ivy, "I don't like being called Miss Lennox. Please call me Mary."

"Tha doesn't li' her own nem?"

Turning around and glaring at him mildly she answers, "No," turning back to the ivy she continues, "and it's none of _your_ business."

"I apologize miss-" he says blushing furiously, but Mary cut him off.

"Don't fret. I just don't like it, is all. Do you think you can help me get over this wall?"

Dickon looked at the wall. It was a bit tall but it wasn't impossible. He's climbed taller walls before, but in order for it to work, he'd have to…

"Why doesn't tha ask for the key?"

Mary pauses for a moment before answering, "They don't know I'm out here." Dickon doesn't say anything. Feeling a loss of words, he studies her face. There was something completely queer about this girl, he felt it, but couldn't place it. "Are you going to help me or not?" she asks, her voice snapping him out of his thoughts, "I'll climb this wall with you or without you."

Dickon nods his head. He'll help her. Only because he doesn't want her to get hurt. It would be a shame if something happened on his watch. Getting as close to the wall as possibly, Dickon cupped his hands together, so she could use them as a step. Mary placed her foot there and put a hand on his shoulder for balance.

Roughly pushing his head downward, she snarls, "Don't look!"

He understood what she meant by asking him not to look, but he would never…! "Sorry Miss," he quickly said anyway.

From there he pushed her up, and it took her no time at all to climb the wall. Dickon proceeded to follow her, but he had experience climbing, so naturally he would have no trouble. Naive to this knowledge, Mary held out her hand for him to take, so she could help him up. Dickon took it anyway, even though he wouldn't have to. They were small and soft in his hand.

They both sat on the wall looking down. Not toward the garden though, no. They looked over the moor. It was quite beautiful at this view. Dickon _has_ seen views of his home like this but he loves them so much it , each time he see's them, is like the first time. He didn't even notice Mary swinging her legs over the wall and proceeding to drop from it until he heard a huge thump.

The sound caught his attention as he tore away from the beautiful view and found the beautiful girl inside of the garden now, standing up and dusting off her skirt. "Miss!" Dickon called to her worried, jumping down the same as she. He approached her, searching for any kind of wound, "Thy alright, Miss?!"

"I'm fine," she said casually, pushing past him and moving toward the center of the garden.

Yes. He's never met quite a girl like Miss Mary in his whole life. Even his sister Martha, who is just as common as he is, would demand help descending from the wall like that. She says it's because it is expected of gentlemen. Doesn't matter if it's a gentleman off the moor, or a gentleman of great worth.

"Look at this place, Mr. Sowerby," Mary gasped. She touched some of the branches, bare and poking out like skeletons from a graveyard. "Have you ever seen anything quite like it."

Still staring at Mary he answers, "No. Not quite."

She turns and smiles at him, to which Dickon tore his gaze from hers, his face flushing a deep crimson hue, embarrassed she may read his thoughts through his expression and the true meaning behind his answer. "Too bad about the garden, though," she says turning her attention back to the garden, "I bet this place was once beautiful."

Dickon moved toward the branch, "An' it will be again."

"What do you mean?" Mary asked, as she saw Dickon pull out a small pocket knife. Seeing it alerted her, she watched him closely as he skinned the branch, and they saw green.

"See Miss Mary," he replied happily, "Tis wick."

"Wick?"

"Aye."

"Well, what does that mean?"

Dickon smiled at her, "Wick means tis alive."

Mary smiled back, thinking about the strange new word. "Hmmm… Wick," she said trying it out for herself. Suddenly a new voice came from behind the wall.

"Marrrrry!" it sang and Mary quickly moved away from the branch. She pulled up her index finger to her lips, pleading him with her eyes that he stayed quiet.

They waited a moment and Dickon pulled her toward the wall again, getting real close to it like before. "Let me go first," Miss Mary instructed urgently, "I go first, and then you wait a moment. Count to sixty and then leave yourself."

He didn't have time to ask why because the voice called to her again, "Mary, where are you!?"

"Coming!" Mary shouted back. She turned her attention back to Dickon, "Please. I don't have many friends. I would hate it if I got you in trouble."

Dickon nodded and hoisted her up. Again she climbed with ease. He did as she instructed, listening to last of the conversation. "What were doing over there Mary?" the voice said.

"Oh nothing, Mother," Mary answered. "Just went exploring."

READER'S NOTE:

Okay tell me what you think. Hate it. Love it. Can't understand it… please

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	2. Rose and Mary Lennox

Part One

"Diamonds"

Mary was a rotten child…

… and she knew it.

She always knew it. There was not a moment she wasn't constantly reminded of it. Though she tries her best to be pleasant around those she believes deserves it, her disfunction and her frustration usually gets to the better of her.

"Found her!" Rose Lennox announced cheerfully, practically dragging Mary behind her like a trapped dog. You would have thought the world was coming apart, by the way all the staff had froze, as if they all seized working just to look for Mary. Highly unlikely, by the way.

"Ah, there you are Miss Mary," Medlock replied as happily as she could, steadying her breathing as if she were holding it the whole time. To an untrained eye, you would see a nervous wreck of a woman, suddenly looking relieved and happy, but Mary knew the look which hid just under the woman's skin. Medlock was only happy she wouldn't lose her job. Mary knows this because _no _one was usually happy to see her. "I almost thought something might have happened."

"That's my Mary for you," her mother smiles, "A little trouble maker she is."

Mary rolls her eyes at her mother, _How would _she _know?_

Mary finds it funny how her mother acts like she is this perfect wonderful caretaker, putting so much time and energy into dragging her around and making up lies for her friends. You'd think it would be easier to just be a good mother, than invest so much into making such a broadway charade.

"Oh, I hope not Madam, not when you and your husband are so busy." Suddenly Medlock takes a moment to glance around, looking for a missing party, "I dare ask, but where _is _your husband?"

"I'm afraid my husband couldn't make it, he'll have to stay in India for the whole trip."

This caught Mary's attention and immediately she ripped her hand away from her mother's man-like grip. Rose didn't even flinch "Oh, I'm terribly sorry to hear that," Medlock said, her hand pressed against her chest to show her shock, but Mary was no fool. Still that didn't mean the news wasn't shocking. At least it certainly shocked Mary.

"But father said he was going to meet us here later," Mary replied looking at her mother with practiced puppy dog eyes. She knew they wouldn't work on her mother but it was worth a shot. "That's what he said."

Rose knelt down to her daughters level, "I know sweetie but he just simply couldn't keep his promise. We'll just have to scold him when we get home, now won't we?"

Something twisted deep in Mary's gut and kept twisting until it was too painful to stand. She needed to sit and process this information. The whole trip without her father? How would she survive such a long length of time with just her mother for company? It is simply impossible. Rose turned away from her daughter, a movie star worthy smile spread across her face. Mary knew this vacation was going to be a lonely one.

Mr. Lennox is Mary's favorite parent. She doesn't care too much for her mother but only because it seems her mother doesn't care so much for her. As it was explained previously, in the company of others, Rose is picture perfect housewife and mother, but in privacy, Rose often put Mary in her room, and left her with Mary's Aya, while Rose went off and went shopping or did things with her friends. She seems to have no interest at all about her own daughter and Mary was done trying find out why or what she did wrong to deserve it.

Her father on the other hand had perfectly good reason for his absence. He is indeed a far busy man. Too busy to be home, regretfully, but when he does come home. He makes it count and spends as much time as he can with his family. Mary much preferred it when it was just her and him, but what kind of husband would not want to spend any time with his wife, after such long voyages. Yes, this was going to be a very lonely vacation indeed.

Then she thought of the garden boy. What was his name again…? Oh, Mr. Sowerby! Honestly Mary didn't think much of him. She was impressed with the way he knew words such as 'wick' and could tell if a plant was alive or not, but there was still nothing she knew about him. He was a complete mystery to her and she would not dare herself to make any assumptions on his behalf. That would just be mad!

Still the idea there was someone she could run away to when she needed it, was comforting. Especially since she is so far away from home. True, she never saw India as home before, but it was the closest to the definition and it was a place she was most familiar with, so naturally India must be her home. Without her mother's permission she marched into her room and decided to lock herself in. If she was going to cry, she would prefer not to do so in front of her mother. After two hours of solitude, she was instructed to leave the bedroom and go shopping with her mother. Mary always detested shopping. She was never patient enough to just stand there while the tailors measured her size and pricked her with needles. It was exhausting just to think about it. Mary refused to go.

"But Ms. Lennox," Mary rolled her eyes at the name. She wasn't sure who it was trying to persuade her to go, but then again she didn't care. "Think of all the pretty dresses you will buy. I'm sure there is no number to how many shoes or accessories a young lady, such as yourself, may need."

"I've got enough to fill a large country," Mary replied, "Tell my mother thank you, but she may drop the charade now."

There was a slight pause and Mary waited for the reply.

"You will come out _now_, you spoiled girl!" Suddenly Mary realized that it was Medlock behind her door.

"Mrs. Medlock is that you?" Mary gasped smugly, "I was wondering when your true face would show. It's quite refreshing! It's almost as if I am meeting you for the first time!"

"You will come out, this instant!" Medlock shouted, "and enjoy yourself with your mother!"

Mary remained unfazed and quite bored when she answered, "No, I don't think I will." She took a book from the case and looked over the first pages, "I'll enjoy myself much more in isolation, thank you very much."

"Rotten girl!" Medlock shouted in reply, and at that she was left alone to rot. Still Mary did not want to stay in her room for the whole trip. She would rather stretch her legs. She found parchment paper and a beautiful fountain pen at a desk, nearest of the large window. She wrote a letter.

_Dear Mr. Sowerby,_

_I apologise if this may seem inappropriate and sudden but I had a idea. Of course, if you aren't too busy I was wondering if you would like to accompany me for a walk tomorrow morning at dawn. We should meet at the front entrance of the manor. Please do not reply to the letter for it would cause both you and I a great deal of trouble. I will wait for you for half an hour. If you do not come then I will accept it as your answer. Also, thank you for enduring my monstrous behavior at the garden. If you do come, I will give you a gift as a reward for rare patience._

_Respectfully,_

_Mary Lennox_

The moment she finished folding the letter and putting it into an envelope, Mary heard a loud banging sound, like a car smashing into her door. Mary jumped, frightened at the sound. She then heard it again and again, until finally the door swung open, cracking some of the wood on the frame in the process. Standing before her, perfect as always, is Mary Lennox's own mother. Staring at her as if nothing had happened at all. "Ready to go sweetheart?" Rose asked her, watching her with dangerous eyes. They were sharp and obviously manipulative. Mary knew this was not something she can say no to, so instead she slowly nodded and hid the letter in her jacket. She would remember to have it sent later.

Hesitantly she approached her mother, feeling an odd sensation of fear and control. Her mother had never taken such interest in her before, it was odd and yet… why? Why now after all this time? When Mary was finally close enough to her mother that she could reach out and caress Mary's face in her hands, Rose did just that and kissed her forehead after. Rose smiled at her and laughed, "That's my girl."

READER'S NOTE-

Okay, horribly short but this will be as short as they get. I promise that! Anyway! You know what to do! Hate it, love it, don't understand it…. doesn't matter… just please!

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	3. Sweet as a Rose

Part Two

"Flowers"

Dickon walked toward the manor. The sun was a reddish orange, setting the hill side a blaze in pastel color. It was early morning, just about to be dawn, and the letter, which Mary wrote, was now folded neatly and held securely in Dickon's hand.

He was home when Martha gave it to him and when he asked who it was from, Martha honestly answered, she did not know. It was a mystery, where it came from, because Martha was told it was given to the stable boy Jacob, who gave it to Michael, the cook's help, who gave it to Lucy, the housemaid, and finally given to Martha, who was instructed to give it to Dickon. Martha would never dare open something which did not belong to her, but it would be a lie if she said she did not care who wrote it and why they went to a great deal of trouble to conceal their identity.

Once Dickon read it, he was both shocked and excited. Miss Mary Lennox, the young mistress of India, had wrote him a letter! Martha immediately asked who wrote it, but Dickon would not say. He understood why he and Mary must be friends in private. No one would understand. It was not normal for someone of her financial stature to converse with someone as common as he, and he did not wish her any ill will fate.

He went to their meeting spot and just like she said, Mary waited patiently on the steps of the Manor's front entrance.

"Mr. Sowerby!" she cried happily, "I was afraid you wouldn't accept my invitation."

"Would've ben rude if I did not," Dickon answered, with an uncontrollable cheeky grin. Mary smiled at his accent. She was beginning to like it allot, and she's not sure why. "Well, I'm 'ere 'ow. We should get to steppin!"

For five minutes they continued to walk in silence. Every now and then Dickon would glance at Mary, to catch the way the rising sun would glow in her hair and eyes, and on her face. He would quickly turn away if either Mary seemed to catch him or if he could feel the heat burn too much in his face for him to conceal it.

"How did you know the garden hadn't died?" Mary asked, locking her eyes on the ground, while pulling some locks of hair away from her face. "Were you taught?"

"Aye," Dickon answer, "My Pa taught me when I wor still just a young 'un. Taught me everthin I needin t'know about gardenin."

"If you don't mind me asking," Mary said, sounding as curious as ever. "What is your father like?"

They stopped walking, not realizing the progress they already made. The mansion was like a little house in their view now. No one would realize she was gone, and they wouldn't know where to find her. Dickon turned toward her and smiled, but it quickly fell as he answered a bit stung, "I… I don't know'. 'e died i' a time I can not rememba." Mary felt guilty she even asked, but how was she supposed to know his father was dead. By the way he spoke to her, she assumed he would still be alive, teaching Dickon about things. Dickon saw the look of confusion on her face, but she was too afraid to ask. "'e wrote a journal o' 'is work. I used ta read it, so it would feel li' 'e wor still 'ere." Mary smiled at him, daring her boundaries by placing a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

Already Dickon realized, she was not as rude or tirant as her mother, as Martha led him on to believe. He would be happy to report to Martha, she was wrong about Miss Mary. If only they didn't have to enjoy each other's company in secret. Maybe one day. One day a friendship could bloom. One which they could share to the world.

"Wha' about thy'n?"

"My father is very much alive, but he doesn't have time to teach me anything. He works non-stop, but when he is home, and he has a little time to spare, he uses it well. We don't talk about much, and usually we have nothing to say at all, but his smiles are all I need to know he cares."

"And thy's mother? I bet she's as pretty a lass as thy."

Suddenly Dickon's eyes went wide. He didn't mean to say that out loud, but it sort of just slipped. He turned away from her, kneeling down to inspect the grass. Doing anything to pretend he hadn't just exposed himself. Luckily for him Mary hadn't noticed. She heard him, but she has too much she always wanted to say about her mother to really care about the meaning behind Dickon's words.

"I'm told my mother is as pretty as a rose, and then I'm told I look absolutely nothing like her," she knelt down beside him, sitting on her crossed legs and starting at an isolated plant. She wasn't sure if it was a flower or a weed, but it was pretty. How can some weeds be pretty too? "She loves to shop, flirt with other men, and host parties in our home, but she's not a mother. Not really."

Dickon's eyes lifted from the grass and finally met hers again. "Surely tha has someone she can look up to. Anyone at all?"

"One person," she answers. Suddenly Mary smiles, more gently than any smile he's seen. It was almost strange to see something so fragile and sweet on a face that began a bit sour. She was opening up to him and he was glad. "She's my Aya, but you will ask nothing else about the subject, because _she_ is my secret."

Dickon still smiled, "Aye, alrigh' then."

They remained silent again, for a moment.

"So if tha's Miss Mary Lennox, that means tha's from India."

Mary nodded her head.

"Wha's it li' there?"

"Very hot, lots of blacks and very few whites, but that doesn't bother me. I don't love India but there is one thing I do love about it."

Dickon leans back to listen. They were suppose to be walking but he doesn't mind. He's never been outside of the moor and it was nice to hear about another place, almost like he was traveling there himself.

"It's all like one big garden." Mary smiled, "Flowers everywhere Mr. Sowerby. Growing up the walls, flooding the grounds likes rivers, floating in the streams."

"Sonds beautiful," Dickon says, smiling, just picturing it.

"Oh it is!" Mary replied excitedly. She never realized how proud of it, she really was until now. "And it grows without any help from anyone, with glowing colors, and petals the size of dinner plates. It certainly is a sight to be seen."

"Speakin 'o' t' garden, wha' does tha' plan t' do wit it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are tha' goin t' visit it often?"

Mary looked at him as if he was crazy, "Why should I? It isn't my garden."

"Aye, tis true, but!" he replied pulling up a finger, gesturing he was about to make a huge point. Mary listened carefully. "but tha' loves it." Mary remained silent, as if waiting for him to finish his point, "The garden, I mean."

Suddenly Mary face went solemn and the gentleness returned in her features. "I don't know."

They both returned just in time for lunch. Dickon had watched Mary walk through the front door, making sure she returned home safely before hiking back to his own home. Luckily he didn't work that day, it was Sunday, but horridly that meant he was late for church and that was _not_ okay.

By the time he successfully snuck into the small church, the service was practically over and when he sat down, he did his best to avoid the glares of his mother. She wasn't looking at him, but he could feel something burning a hole in his head and he had a sure feeling it was his mother doing it. After the service, and everyone was finished, greeting eachother and saying their goodbyes, Dickon tried to sneak past his mother, in attempt to avoid the hell-fire, but sadly he just wasn't quick enough.

"An' where does tha' think tha' is goin'?!" she bellowed, grabbing the back of his collar and yanking him toward her. "Well!?"

"Tha went to see Miss Mary," Martha said quietly. She didn't mean to say it out loud, but she said it with so much shock, Dickon could manage to give her a mild glare.

"Tis true?" Mrs. Sowerby demanded equally as shocked.

Dickon didn't know what to say, he felt backed into a corner. They were suppose to be a secret, she and Dickon and now the secret's out. He could always lie, but he's not sure where his sister got her information from, probably from the maids, and it would be embarrassing to stumble upon lie after lie, after lie. Also he wouldn't like lying to his mother, and it would be a sin to do so, so Dickon decided the only when to survive this is to just come out with it and tell the truth.

It took him a while to find his words until he finally took a deep breath and said, "Aye." He could already feel the regret seeping through him, realizing this may be the only day he could have spent with Mary. He should have made it last. "But t'Miss invited me! I swear!"

Martha and Mrs. Sowerby just stood in shock as Dickon continued. "She's not at all li' Martha said. She's gentle as a lily and sweet as a rose-"

"Dickon…"

"What?"

All his life, Martha and Mrs. Sowerby have made a point to teach him not to judge those on the outside, but rather to judge what's on the in. Still the way he talks about this girl… it begins to frighten them. It was time, Mrs. Sowerby sat down with her son and finally tell him about the ugly part of this world. A subject she has skillfully tried to avoid.

READER'S NOTE- Sorry been away for a while and this is what I came up with. Anyway thank you so much for reading, you have NO idea what it means to me that some of you actually read it. I really appreciate it. It's 1 in the morning so I'm trying to say this without sounding so uninterested. You know the drill! Love it, hate it, or don't understand it. You know what to do!

REVIEW!


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